my head hurts
constantly
my eyelids are pulled back—
let me be awake.

stop the tug-of-war,
the short sentences
the silence.

the woman next door told me all I had to do was keep breathing
(I wonder what she’s on).
sometimes The Girls talk about it
in a coffee shop,
or under the pretense of a book club.
they tell lots of other stories,
but I always seem to forget them.

the pounding in the night is just the ghosts in your head;
you see, I’ve tricked myself into believing that I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.
it’s a nice lie to live by,
so it’s okay, you can let me have my blind spot—
everyone needs a little character.

even though the machine is falling from the sky,
all the parts are still working.
I saw it on TV, so it must be true (and let me tell you,
the weather we’ve been having here makes me want to curl into a ball
and sleep in my mother’s driveway)

“she’s back!”
I want to hear them scream,
“she’s back!”
but it’s a little late to remove the earplugs.
maybe I just haven’t been listening
at least everything makes more sense that way.

look, I’m tired, I’m hell-bent on distraction, and I keep  losing my train of thought.
I don’t know; just tell me what it means.
Just tell me that it means something
because I’m out of options.
the toaster won’t turn on, the kettle stopped boiling water, when I try to sing I simply croak
like I’m full of slowly hardening cement,
and the kids who opened their windows
to feel the night on their skin are leaving hand prints and initials.
what is wrong with the picture?
(it’s not candid. it’s not candid, so take it again)

why do people have to be so picky?

There are often too many things to say and not enough people to say them to.
My ears feel as if they are full to the brim with wax,
but the rest of me is empty.
I was trying to be alone—you touched my stomach
it’s surprising when things don’t scare me.

Stop apologizing for making me feel alive again
I should be sorry for talking so incessantly;
(I shouldn’t have bored you)
it just feels good to say something now and then
Your eyes are so soft,
you are soft
when your lips stretch into a grin.

There are bees and they’re buzzing—
the air feels sweeter
and I’m sorry if I stared, but my eyes couldn’t move.
I was thinking about what you said.
time moves more slowly when you feel alone and
crying is more difficult when you force yourself to do it
(so just stop thinking about “me”)
(it’s only going to help)

tell someone sorry
please let it be me.

when you ask yourself questions
the answers are more apparent than they seem.

my footprints in the snow look like camel hooves
and you always seem to think
I'm something you can capture.
it's awful being edible, but it's something I've come to terms with.

I'm sure you're thinking about what you're eating
but sometimes you need to have something else in mind
and I'm freezing.

because you don't know how
to whisper
everyone knows your cat has no claws.

look,
don't ask me about conquering obstacles
like my sarcasm;
it's not something I understand

but fear is
but fear is
but fear is
but fear is
but fear is
but fear is
but fear is
but fear is
but fear is
but fear is FEAR.

There were days when we would grasp our pencils
as if they were the cause of all our troubles,
when really they were the only things that were a constant.
There were moments when we looked too far forward,
and we missed things that were right in front of us,
when we pined for those we had not yet lost—
moments that made us question ourselves, our choices, our futures.

Maybe we do say the wrong things,
and maybe we think we know the answers,
but there is no space between the lines we carve ourselves
unless we fall asleep too early
or we decide to go out for food instead of writing down our futures in pen.

For some of us,
there has been time to learn how to say sorry
or to tell someone that we love them.
Others have watched and waited to hear these very words.
There have been days when we look in the mirror and we don’t see ourselves,
but at least we recognize some variation of who we are.

It is there, in these
moments which feel like they should be more meaningful,
that the secrets we are too fearful
to speak are hiding:
                We’re afraid that we’ll miss each other,
                but we’re terrified of letting go.

i positioned my hair so that it wouldn't part in the wind or when I kissed you.
it made sense at the time to be enamored of something imaginary, i caught fish between my teeth and used toothpaste to get it out, used your fingernail to spread the minty flavor.
I told you lies so that you wouldn't touch me, but it was sad and unnecessary in the end
cold, without skin, i am only something you remember
and I parted my hair so that you could touch it.

the feeling of having you back in my arms,
the feeling of having you back inside of me,
I touched your scent with kisses until you fell numb,
having a seizure of joy in your mind.
i couldn't taste any remorse, but you were always good at hiding those sorts of things, and socks.

you can't hide feelings between the sheets
so we slept in separate beds and had separate dreams.
I wasn't sure why you cried at night,
and you weren't sure why I slept with earplugs
touching, but never feeling
used books on repair
second-hand gifts
back up plans
love

the floor looked lonely
                                       you used to say things to me about the universe,
beneath my feet,
like sand, but breathing slightly less.
the water helped me
                                                     and I would ask you to be more specific
by closing one door and eliminating my
                                                                                    but you told me
                                                           that I simply sounded repetitive.
options.
words came from its lips (lightweight, empty)
like the sound of my breathing
                                                       ­                                     I'll stop talking.
when I'm afraid to make a sound.